


Under the Influence

by kisahawklin



Category: Psych
Genre: Drugs, Dubious Consent, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-20
Updated: 2008-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 08:58:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1642823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kisahawklin/pseuds/kisahawklin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shawn takes one for the team.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Influence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sandalstrap](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandalstrap/gifts).



> Thanks so very much to a last minute and yet thorough beta by Kristin.

Carlton smuggled in his own Pepsi. He'd thought about orange juice, but if he drank screwdrivers, he always seemed to have people hit on him. Rum and Coke just wasn't as inviting. 

He tipped out his sixth drink into the plant next to him and poured himself another glass of alcohol-free cola, scanning the crowd at Tom Blair's Pub for the suspect. He should have seen something by now.

The waitress had been giving him the stink-eye all evening; he supposed he should tip her before she spat in his drink or did something else equally horrifying to his tumbler. Just thinking about it made Carlton want to start bringing his own _glassware_ to stakeouts.

He downed the soda, flipping the coaster on top of it and flagging the waitress, waving a fifty at her. He grinned, but backed off it a little when she looked more frightened than friendly. "Thought I'd settle up while I still could," he said, slurring just enough to make it believable. Her eyes narrowed, and she cocked her head to the side, looking at him a little longer than was polite.

"Why don't you have one more, honey," she said, a slight Southern twang coloring her adopted California accent. "On the house," she said, smiling toothily. "I'll just get Jeff to fix you up something nice to send you on your way."

She snagged the fifty out of his hand, picked up his emptied glass, and sashayed back to the bar. Carlton glanced around the bar again, wondering if the suspect had been tipped off. He'd been sitting in the bar all night with the coaster on top of his drink just waiting for the dealer to approach him. He had been so certain that his information was good.

The waitress came back with his drink, something clear and fizzy with half the fruit from the bar in it. He smiled at her as she set his change down on the table. "I think I've had enough," he said, leaning heavily to the side and making his smile a little lopsided too.

"Oh, you can't leave without trying it, sugar," she said, and Carlton had never been great at reading women, but there was something predatory about her that made him want to swallow and straighten his tie. He took the glass in hand, but before he could fake a drink, Spencer slid into the chair next to him.

"Lassy," he said, smoothly taking the drink from Carlton's hand. "You got me a Stoli and Sprite! That's so sweet!" Spencer tipped the glass up, swallowing the contents in four obscenely loud gulps, the ice tinkling in the glass when he set it down. 

Carlton sputtered, at a loss for words like he always was where Spencer was concerned. "Spencer, that was _my_ drink," he finally said, though he wasn't certain he kept the relief out of his voice entirely.

"I'll split the cab fare to make it up to you," Spencer said, leaning in too close and saying, too loudly, "Or we could just go back to your place."

The waitress went from looking pissed off to semi-indulgent at Carlton's fish imitation. He was fairly certain it was a good one. Then Spencer whispered in his ear. "Seriously, Lassy, we need to get out of here."

There was an urgency to his voice that Carlton rarely, if ever, heard, so he handed a ten to the waitress as a ridiculously large tip, grabbed Spencer by the arm, and shoved him out of the bar like he was the suspect Carlton had been waiting for all night. As soon as he was clear of the bar, he released Spencer's arm and radioed in that the whole thing had been a bust, that his team should call it a night.

Spencer followed him to his car, grabbing the handle on the passenger side as if he honestly expected Carlton to give him a ride home.

"Cab, Spencer. Use all the cash you saved by stealing my drink."

"This is the thanks I get for taking one for the team?" Spencer asked, and Carlton gave a short, brittle laugh. 

"That doesn't count as taking one for the team." Carlton slid in, pulling the door shut. Spencer leaned down to peer through the window, his hands cupped around his eyes.

"For crying out loud," Carlton muttered, lowering the window. "What?"

"It counts," Spencer said, leaning into the window like a hooker. "And if you want to ever find out who's selling E to the late thirties yuppie wannabe crowd, you'll give me a ride home."

 _Damn it,_ Carlton thought, wishing he could have at least had one for the road. _Spencer and his goddamn psychic bullshit._ He unlocked the car door, and Spencer oozed into the car with an uncharacteristic grace and melted over the bucket seats and much too far into Carlton's personal space for his comfort. 

"Where do you live?" Carlton asked, starting the engine and putting the car in reverse. The rest of the team has left already, thank god, the last thing he needed were the rumors that would circulate from Spencer being in his car.

Spencer didn't answer, just leaned in another few inches until their arms brushed. He closed his eyes and smiled, a disturbingly private smile, and the hooker impression crossed Carlton's mind again. 

"Mmm," Spencer said, and Carlton moved over fractionally, asking for Spencer's address in a sharp voice.

"Lassy," Spencer said cajolingly. 

Understanding came in a lightening bolt. "They tried to slip me something," Carlton said, closing his eyes and rubbing two fingers across his forehead.

Spencer turned a bright smile on him. "Told you I took one for the team," Spencer said, and laid his head on Carlton's arm. 

There was no way Carlton could leave him alone, and he didn't have any idea where Spencer lived. He wrangled Spencer's cell phone away from him, trying Guster and Spencer Sr., but neither one picked up. There was no way he was going to let Spencer get anywhere near O'Hara in this state.

Despite what the rest of the department thought, Carlton wasn't _actually_ heartless. He backed out of the parking space, put the car in gear, and elbowed Spencer back into his own seat.

Spencer kept coming back, grabbier with each attempt. Carlton knew it was the drugs talking, but it didn't keep him from grinding his teeth in irritation and shoving Spencer off again and again.

The twelve minute drive to his house was one of the longest of Carlton's life. He pulled into his driveway, slamming the car into park and throwing himself out of the car, clenching and unclenching his fists a few times. Spencer bounced out of the car just as quickly, bounding over to Carlton and slinging an arm around his shoulders. "Aw, Lassy. I didn't know you cared."

Carlton rolled his eyes, stiffly maneuvering them up the steps and into the house, pausing for a moment to find his house key on the keyring. He calmly removed Spencer's hand from his ass and pushed the door open, stepping back and sweeping a hand in front of him in invitation, his smile fixed and tight.

Spencer grinned like the twelve year old he was and skipped in the door, commenting on everything from Carlton's collection of spaghetti westerns to the copy of _Winning at Internet Poker for Dummies_ sitting next to his favorite La-Z-Boy. 

"There's the couch," Carlton said, depositing Spencer on it unceremoniously before taking a seat in his recliner.

"Wait," Spencer said, and Carlton really hoped this wasn't going to be a rambling lecture on how the color of his couch affected his chi. "You're going to sleep in the chair while I sleep on your couch?" Spencer asked.

"Yes," Carlton answered, loosening his tie and pulling it off. 

"Well," Spencer said, reaching for the collar of his polo shirt like he might have a tie to take off too, "if you're not going to use your bed, can I sleep in it?"

"No!"

"Come on, Lassy, _someone_ should be sleeping in the bed. It's a waste of a perfectly good bed!" Spencer stood, heading for the hallway to Carlton's bedroom, brushing his fingertips over Carlton's forearm as he passed by.

"Spencer," Carlton said, but for someone who was high or drunk or both, Spencer moved remarkably fast. 

"This it?" Spencer asked, pushing open the door to Carlton's spartan bedroom. He felt a twinge of embarrassment, but before he could do more than acknowledge it, Spencer had flopped down onto his bed, stroking the comforter with his entire body, humping Carlton's empty bed.

"Spencer," Carlton whined, turning around to collect himself. He unbuttoned the top button on his shirt, and rolled his sleeves back, all while pointedly keeping his back to the bed and Spencer's obscene display. 

When the rustling noises stopped, Carlton turned around and Spencer was rubbing his cheek against a pillow, eyes clenched tightly shut. "Feels good," Spencer mumbled, and for the first time in their history, Carlton wanted to offer something to Spencer. Comfort, support, protection, he wasn't sure, but he wanted to let the drugs wear off with the least possible amount of damage to Spencer's dignity.

"Knew it," Spencer said, rolling onto his back and staring up at Carlton with dark, dark eyes. "Knew you'd take care of me." 

Carlton was setting a knee down on the bed before he had even realized he moved. He had no idea what he even meant to do, just that Spencer was reaching for him and he had a nearly overwhelming urge to touch. 

"Come on, Lassy," Spencer said, still holding out his arms. "Have a little fun."

~~~

The next morning, Carlton woke up to the sound of Spencer's whistly breathing. He closed his eyes and said a short prayer before cracking an eye open again, hoping against hope that Shawn Spencer stretched out long and lean across his wife's half of the bed was a dream.

No such luck. And now Spencer was awake, looking up at Carlton and making a stinky face. "Huh," Spencer said, and if there was one upside to this situation, Carlton thought, an incoherent Shawn Spencer was it. 

Of course, it didn't last long. "I thought for sure if there was one person able to resist the lure of Shawn Spencer charm, it'd be you." Spencer rolled over, springing out of bed and into his boxers. "Don't just lie there!" 

Carlton sat up, and there was a surprising moment of confusion as he tried to decide whether or not he needed to worry about his modesty. 

"Seriously, Carlton. We have bad guys to catch. Can I cuff the waitress? Pat her down? Because she was kind of hot. Also I'm pretty sure she was keeping the E in her bra."

Carlton groaned and threw back the covers, ignoring Spencer's wolf whistle as he wandered into the bathroom and turned on the shower, letting the water drown out his thoughts and Spencer's voice. 

 


End file.
